Last Call
by shedyourmask
Summary: Ruby, Sam. - Every other night or so, she would be sitting in a 24 hour diner, smothering her fries with her favorite condiment, all the while trying to figure out how to get Dean out of the pit, when she would get a call. The call.


**Title**: Last Call

**Fandom**: Supernatural

**Characters**: Ruby, Sam

**Rating**: PG-13 (for language)

**Summary**: Every other night or so, she would be sitting in a 24 hour diner, smothering her fries with her favorite condiment, all the while trying to figure out how to get Dean out of the pit, when she would get a call. The call. [Loosely based off of Lee Ann Womack's 'Last Call']

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing… and there are only a few itty bitty spoilers for episode 4x01

. . . . .

She always ended up in the same places, sitting in a booth where the plastic on the seats were ripping off, and the fluorescent sign that's supposed to say 'Open' now only said 'Ope'. It's always the same. Saucer of ketchup, large basket of fries, and a glass of Coke with the ice already melted. She continuously ended up in one of those dives, she didn't know why, but for some reason it made her feel comfortable… safe. Maybe it reminded her of the time B.D.D. (Before Dean Died). Snarky comments sprouted from the waitress' lips. Angry cooks in the back. Skinny kids rushing to clean dishes up. It was constant, never changing, always the same. So unlike the life she led. Polar opposites in fact. Except for one thing.

*Ring*

Yeah. That's the thing. She sighed, but made herself look at her cell phone. Slipping it from her back pocket, Ruby glanced at the caller ID. Right on time. She sat there staring at the numbers, feeling the phone vibrate on her fingertips. Pursing her lips, she flipped the phone open, only to press the button to ignore the call. She hated routines, and this was quickly becoming an obnoxious habit.

Every other night or so, she would be sitting in a 24 hour diner, smothering her fries with her favorite condiment, all the while trying to figure out how to get Dean out of the pit, when she would get a call. The call.

. . . . .

The first time she didn't even hesitate when he called. After taking what seemed forever, trying to decode his slurred speech just to find out where he was, she raced on over. It was a dingy bar, full of angry people, and even angrier drunks. Unfortunately, Sam was one of the latter, and it seemed to get worse the lower the level of liquid in the Johnny Walker Red bottle got. She had to struggle to get him in the beat up car she stole, and practically had to carry him over to his motel room. Filching the key from his back pocket she let the both of them in.

When he got settled in, she thought the whole ordeal was over and that he would just pass out and forget everything. Wrong. He somehow found another bottle of liquor and started to nurse another glass of liquid courage. Then the fireworks came. He screamed until he got hoarse. Threw random objects around until he ran out of ammo. Blamed her for everything. How it was her fault that Dean got pulled down into hell. That if she wasn't there then Lilith wouldn't have let the bloodhounds into the den. That she was a fucking bitch who deserved to be in Dean's place. That he wished he never met her. Tears streamed down his face in lines that will permanently engrave themselves into her mind. Falling to his knees, all he could get out were sobs, and heartbreaking breaths of anguish.

The entire time he yelled at her, she just stood there taking it all in, but when he finally collapsed she pressed the tips of her fingers onto her burning eyes and heaved a sigh. When her hands fell to her sides and she saw what a mess he made, she decided to take action. Stiffening her spine, she walked over to his side, and pulled him up by his elbow. She shuffled them into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and without waiting for the water to get warm, she pushed him under.

Ignoring the sputtering curses he threw her way, she went out into the room, and started to pick up random articles of clothing that was strewn about, John's journal that was lucky to be in one piece, lamps and chairs that had toppled over, and put them in their rightful place. She fixed the sheets, poured the bottle of whiskey down the drain in the kitchenette, and started to brew some coffee. Maybe it would sober him up a little. She made her way over to the door, and after making sure things looked somewhat in order, she headed out of the motel room, but not before whispering a sarcastic "Your welcome."

It wasn't until a couple of nights later that she got her next phone call, and that was only the beginning. He would go on binges and call her up in the middle of the night asking for a ride. Eventually his mood turned somewhat decent. They would have conversations that didn't revolve around her being a demon or his brother suffering in hell. They would talk about some of the cases that they went on, a random movie that was on television, or the latest tunes that he put on his iPod. Some of the songs were foreign to her, mostly because when they came out she was still climbing out of the pit, but she still listened to him rant about the difference between folk and indie, and why some artists shouldn't even try switching genres because it made them look like a poser.

Then there were times when they would sit up discussing his latest nightmare and what it meant or even if it did have any meaning. But most times they would just sit around, him drunk and feeling miserable, and her feeling like a statue waiting for the next bird to shit on her. The routine continued for weeks, and she just didn't have the courage to turn him down. One look from those eyes and she was gone.

A little while ago, he had a really bad bender. Throwing up, the shakes, glazed over eyes. She thought he was going to die. It felt like a hand reached into her body and just clenched her heart with intense fervor. She hadn't been that scared in a really long time, and it freaked her out.

Waking up on a cold floor was never fun, especially when it was only a couple hours after thinking that the messiah of her people was going to die, and by a stupid recreation created by mortals. She pushed herself off of the floor, and winced when she felt that her skin was stuck to the tiles. Slowly peeling herself away, she cocked her head to hear what was going on in the rest of the motel room. After she heard the latest headlines come from the TV, she sighed in relief. The damn idiot was alive. She took a quick look into the mirror to see the damage, and pulled a face when she saw her reflection.

The new meat suit was still unfamiliar to her. Sure she was pretty, had great hair, and nice teeth, but she missed the blonde's body. But what could she do. She had to find someone to possess and fast, and unlike most of her fellow demons, she didn't like the idea of entering a body that was perfectly healthy and that had a long shelf life. This body was in a coma for about three months and the doctors had just diagnosed her with brain damage. Poor girl. It was sad but she had to give a little chuckle when she thought about what the faces of the nurses looked like after they discovered the missing body.

"Ruby?" She heard his raspy question through the door. He sounded like shit. Good.

Rolling her eyes at herself in the mirror, she answered with, "Almost done." and then she heard his footprints patter away from the door. It took her a little bit, but when she was finished cleaning up, she hesitated to leave the bathroom. They had never seen each other the next morning before. Usually it was for dinner or a random trip to kill some baddies. And it was always on neutral grounds. She mentally punched herself in the face, and before thinking twice, swung the door open.

He was sitting on the bed with his hands clasped together, hanging between his knees. He had forgone the usual layers and just had on a pair of jeans and a light grey t-shirt. The boy definitely had some great genes running through him. It took all the strength in her body to look away, and when she did, she was angry with how she was acting around him. It was as if she was the nerdy tutor in love with the star football player. She was a freaking demon, dammit. She had survived hell countless times, and one glance at some guy's arm muscles turned her into jello. It wasn't fair being a girl. Guys, especially the one in front of her, always had the advantage. God, she could still remember when women got the vapors. Yeah, it was a little bit more embarrassing then, but still, she shouldn't even have any of those thoughts about Sam. She was there to help him get ready for the rising of Lucifer, and that was it.

He looked up when she entered, and gave an impish smile. The bastard. He had another case. He was constantly thinking that if he charmed her enough, that she would just go willingly along with his ideas. That she wouldn't think twice, and run to go and complete a mission for him, like a dog playing catch with its master. Unfortunately that was exactly what happened. And as per usual, she ran along with her tail between her legs panting and whimpering for him to throw the damn ball again. Luckily for her, he did. All the way to Louisiana to go check out some hoodoo shaman. Outwardly she muttered, "Your welcome." But inwardly, she had to contain a little smile. He needed her and that felt good, too good.

. . . . .

*Ring*

She had to bite her lip to contain the moan of annoyance. She didn't even bother looking at the screen to see who was calling. She knew, and for once she wasn't going to go after him. Never again. She promised herself after the last time that she wasn't going to put herself into that situation again. That it was going to be the last call she ever came running after.

. . . . .

It had been a little while since they've seen each other. And when he called she thought it was to just check up and see how Louisiana went. Boy was she wrong. She picked up the phone, and the familiar sigh on the other end met her ear. While following the usual drill, she got the directions out of him, surprisingly pretty easy, and when she went to pick him up, he didn't give her a fuss. It was a little bit suspicious, but she let it go. Maybe he wasn't that drunk.

They arrived at his room, and she was about to leave him at the door when he mumbled if she wanted to come in. Having nothing better to do, she agreed. He went straight to the mini bar and took out three mini whiskey bottles. He finished them in a quick gulp, and when she joked about him not sharing any with her, he just stared at the ground.

"Sam? You okay?" She questioned as she crept closer. She was a little startled when she saw that his face was damp, and when she didn't get an answer from him, she shuffled closer. They were a foot apart when he finally looked up at her. She had to stop herself from taking a step back. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and his jaw was clenched in emotion.

His lower lip quivered slightly as he whispered, "Ruby?" He let out a sniff, and before she could move he bent down and claimed her lips with his own. His hand reached up and grasped the back of her head tightly, almost as if he was desperate for some human contact. Just as she felt her own hands reach up to his shoulders, she snapped out of it.

"What in the hell are you doing?" She screamed out as she pushed herself away and stepped far into the room.

His face barely altered when he answered. "It's been two months, Rubes." He stood still, and let his head slouch down.

"And so you kiss me?" She couldn't wrap her mind around it. Two months? Okay… it had been two months since Dean died but that doesn't explain why his tongue was in her mouth.

All he did was repeat, "It's been two months." His arms were limp by his sides, and for the first time in a long time she felt all hope drain from her. He looked like an empty husk standing there. Not her savior, not a messiah, just some messed up fuck, with everyone he loves dead, and nowhere to go.

She stepped back up to him and when he looked up again, she saw for herself what a dam bursting inside of a person looked like. His body quivered with pain, and with one huge gasp he was falling. They tumbled to the ground, almost like the first time, but that day he didn't stop sobbing. He just kept repeating, "It's been two months. It's been two months" And to that she would say "I know. I know." And at the end he was whispering, "He's really gone. He's not coming back. He's not coming home. I'm all alone. They left me all alone."

Words became too much for her, so she just cried along with him, and murmured into his hair how sorry she was. She cradled him like a child, squeezing him to her chest, into her heart. Wishing that there was something that she could do, something that would help him with his grief. But the only thing she could come up with was just to be there. To be there with him, and to show him that he wasn't alone, and that she wouldn't leave him alone. Not ever.

Eventually she got him into his bed, pulled his covers up tight, and sat down by his side. "Look at you." She whispered. He had fallen asleep, and even in his dreams the furl to his brow stayed put. She softly reached up to brush it away, but he turned his head the same time, so she ended up cupping the side of his face. After a few moments of softly brushing his hair away from his face, she knew it was time for her to leave, and just as she was placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, she heard those three words that would make any woman fall to her knees.

Knowing that he was drunk made a huge difference, but for one brief second she had a flash of what her life might have been like if she hadn't got caught up with those witches when she was human. A man who loved her, and who would continue to love her even throughout all of her faults. A few children. A couple of grandchildren. Happiness.

She clenched her eyes at the thought. Happiness wasn't available for people… monsters like her. She gave up the dreams of happiness a long time ago, but as she sprinted out of that room with his drunken whispers and whiskey flavored kisses trailing behind her, she couldn't help but think that maybe in a different life, in a different time, she would have had happiness with a guy, like the one passed out in the room she just left.

. . . . .

The phone hadn't rang in a while, and though she was glad that he got her message of wanting to be left alone, she couldn't help but think that something had gone wrong, and that the last tumbler of whiskey he drank might have been his last.

It took forever for her to make up her mind. Maybe if she waited a little bit he would call again, and then she would answer just to see if he was okay. But what if she waited too long and he choked on his own vomit and died? Fuck. It was times like those that she wished she was back in the pit. She didn't have to wonder about someone's well-being there, because they're all in the same damn position as she was, in agony and desperate to get out. Here she had to worry about useless emotions and a conscience.

After deciding what she had to do, she ended up in front of his new motel room, wanting to kick herself. He wasn't there, and she didn't want to go and call him up. She wasn't that desperate. Looking through the window for the fifteenth time, just to double check that he wasn't there, she sighed and turned to go back home. But just as she reached her latest 'donated' vehicle, she heard his familiar voice call out to her. It made her wince, but at the same time she was glad that he was actually alive and not in some dumpster turning into a statistic. She glanced behind her and gave a quick wave, and opened the car door. He called out to her again, this time inviting her inside. Her stomach clenched at the thought, but instead of doing the logical thing, she took up his offer and followed him inside like a good little puppy.

Things were tense at first. The silence was more than awkward, and if Sam cleared his throat one more time she was going to slaughter him. She looked around the room, trying to bide her time. It was a nice sized motel room. Though it had some weird peacock décor thing going on, but then the Winchesters never got normal motel rooms. Ever.

From the corner of eye, she saw him move to clear his throat again, and sent him a glare.

"Bobby sent me another case." He brought up. Neutral territory. She wanted to sigh in relief.

"Where am I going?" She asked as she shifted on the chair to face him.

He looked away before answering. "Uh, actually we're going to Ohio in a couple of days. It might have something to do with… Lilith." Even with him hesitating at the end, he sounded like he really wanted to work the case with her. Like as a team… or a partnership. She kind of just looked at him for awhile, and when she saw a glimpse of sincerity she nodded her head. He nodded his back.

She glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was well into the next morning, and she could tell that he was well on his way to passing out, and from the whiff of alcohol she got from him when she entered the room, if she assumed that he was pretty loaded, she wouldn't be wrong. She mentioned to him that he should get to bed, and he reluctantly agreed. He walked up to his bed, stripped off his pants and climbed under the covers, just like a child. She had to smile at him. She walked over to his side table to turn off the light, and as she reached down he caught her wrist in his hand.

"I… uh. I wanna thank you, for what you did the other night. I was kinda messed up. Things are gonna change." He whispered. She looked up, and wasn't too surprised that he had passed out. So she bent down, placed his hand back on the bed, kissed his forehead, and turned back to the room to finish organizing it for when he woke up. After putting the coffee grounds into the coffee maker, she then went and got a glass of water to put beside his bed.

She took one more look around the room to make sure everything was in order, and gave herself a small sigh. Yeah, happiness wasn't a possibility for her, but seeing him curled up under those sheets with a little bit of drool sneaking out from his puckered lips, she felt wanted, and if that turned into a constant routine, then that was okay with her. It was enough. He was enough. So with a wistful, "Your welcome." she softly closed the door behind, and went back to her car.

The next night she sat at the diner swirling a French fry in the red sugary-tart substance, and when his call came, she didn't groan or sigh in annoyance. She smiled softly because when she picked up, it wasn't to a sad inebriated man, it was to Sam Winchester, who was finally ready to kick ass and take names. And she had no problem with that at all. It was time to help her redeemer train for the war. It's going to be a bumpy ride, but they can handle it.


End file.
